A Quiet Breakfast
by Spun
Summary: Deanoning from the kink meme. Francis loses something very, very important - his manhood. And this is not a gender-bend, so I do mean that literally.


**A Quiet Breakfast**

**Disclaimer: **_Axis Powers: Hetalia_ (or whatever they're calling it these days) is not mine.

**Warnings: **…you know, I'm not even sure _what_ to warn for.

**Pairing: **France/England/Canada/America… or some permutation thereof.

**Notes: **De-anoning from the APH Kink Meme. The original request: _There're a bunch of fills where UK and US and France...and well, everyone and their mother uses a cock ring... They tend to leave it on for hours on end in some fills... Generally, however, this would cause the loss of the penis. I would like to see this happening to France...can be crack or serious._ Obviously, I went the crack route. The _extreme_ crack route.

* * *

"Ar-_thur_, I thought you said you had strawberry jam."

"I told you to look behind the milk."

"I _am_ looking behind the milk. There's nothing here except – god, I don't know _what_ that is, but I don't think food should be that color."

"I just put it there yesterday night, idiot, look harder."

"It's not here!" Alfred whined, straightening up and pouting at Arthur from behind the refrigerator door. "_Really_. Come look."

Arthur huffed, but he stood up anyway – he wouldn't put it past Alfred to just drag the fridge over if he didn't go and see, the impatient bastard. He gave his tea one last longing look before doing as he'd been told.

There was indeed nothing behind the jug of milk except for something dark purple and oozing that was slowly eating away at the walls of its plastic tub. Arthur took a pen from his pocket and curiously poked at it. The blob quivered, wobbling gelatinously, then began to draw the end of the pen further into its depths. "Seriously, what is that stuff?" Alfred asked, peering cautiously over his shoulder. "Do you think it ate the jam?"

"I don't know," Arthur said honestly. He sacrificed the pen (which, at this point, was more than halfway into the goo and was starting to melt) and closed the fridge door. "Well, you'll have to do without jam, then."

Alfred's lips turned down, but he turned and sulked back to the table without arguing. Then he promptly perked up when he saw another jar next to his plate. "Oh, hey! Grape!"

"You know, I have the strawberry jam right here," Matthew said, for the fifth time. Alfred, already slathering grape jelly on his toast, glanced at him, grunted, and took a bite. "Okay then… more for me."

Arthur rolled his eyes and picked up his favorite teacup. Hopefully, now that the Jam Crisis had been averted, he could have a nice, quiet breakfast.

"GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

"Jesus," Alfred said eloquently, once he'd gotten up off the floor and stopped choking on the toast he had inhaled. Matthew nodded in agreement and wiped Arthur's tea from his face.

"What the fuck is that asshole _doing_ up there?" Arthur raged. A perfectly good mouthful of tea, wasted! The stupid French bastard was supposed to be _showering_, not showing off his lung capacity! Arthur growled at his cup and hoped Francis had stepped on a razorblade. That would serve him right, too, the idiot hardly ever shaved and stubble could be _painful_ on certain areas of the body. It would be a few days before he could wear tight pants again.

"Oy!" Someone rapped on the window. The three nations swiveled around to see one of Arthur's neighbors glaring in at them, holding a garden trowel like a weapon. "You mind keeping it down in there? Didn't we get enough of that from you last night?"

Arthur started cursing. Alfred's eyes unfocused as he lost himself in pleasant memories of the aforementioned 'last night'. Thus, it was up to Matthew to placate the man. After profuse apologies, he finally went away, and not a moment too soon – there was a sound like a small horde of bulls coming down the stairs, and then Francis barreled into the room, clutching something in his hand, his body damp, with an expression of sheer devastation on his face. Arthur had only a moment to contemplate how odd it was that he actually wore a towel slung around his hips before the something in Francis's hand was shoved into his face. "LOOK!"

Spouting off a few more swear words, Arthur tried to shove his arm away, but Francis was having none of that. "I can't, you bloody moron! Back off!" He squinted at the object – it was long, flesh-colored, and oddly familiar in shape, and…

"Is that a dick?" Alfred said through a mouthful of toast.

"It's not _a_ dick, it's _my_ dick!" Francis shouted, shaking it in front of Arthur's nose. Arthur started groping around for his butter knife. "And it's _in my hand_!"

"Cool trick!" Alfred was oddly delighted at this turn of events. "Can you show me how to do that?"

"It isn't a trick!" Francis bellowed. To Arthur's relief, he turned around and began pushing what he claimed was his penis into Matthew's face, instead. Matthew looked bored. He'd been suffering this treatment since his colony days. "You _forgot_ about the cock ring – you left it on me _all night_ while I was asleep – and when I went to take it off, MY PENIS CAME OFF WITH IT!"

Arthur scoffed. "Look, Alfred might be stupid enough to believe that, but I'll thank you to cut it out. I would _like_ to finish my tea in _peace_." He demonstratively took up the cup again and sipped, closing his eyes at the delicious flavor that washed over his tongue.

"Nah, Artie –" Alfred had crouched down and was peeking under Francis's towel, "– I think he's serious. I mean, it's really… not there."

Francis gave an unmanly squeak and yanked his towel back down. "Don't _look_!"

"Why?" Arthur snorted. "You show that… _region_ of yours to everyone."

"Yes!" Great, Francis was facing him again, still waving that thing around like it was some kind of flag. "When my cock is attached to my crotch, and not in my HAND!"

"Don't worry," Matthew said quietly, "you could always get a prosthetic, they make really good ones now. Or a strap-on. Ask Elizabeta, she knows about these things."

Francis threw his arms up. "Can't any of you take my loss of manhood _seriously_?" he wailed.

While he was ranting and raving about not being able to fulfill his duties as the country of love if he didn't have his self-described 'love stick', Alfred had divested him of the severed appendage and was inspecting it with obvious fascination. "You'd better wash your hands before touching anything else in my house," Arthur grumbled, tuning Francis out.

"Mhm." Alfred held the penis up and scrutinized it carefully. "Hey, it's not all bad – once rigor mortis sets in, this thing could make a pretty good dildo."

Matthew's eyes lit up at that, and Arthur scooted away from him. Last time Matthew had gotten that particular expression, Arthur found himself wearing a beekeeping outfit. Kid had the strangest kinks. "You know, that's not a bad idea…"

"Right? Yo, Frannie, can we pierce it? I know you didn't want needles near your wang, but since it's not really _yours_ anymore –"

Unleashing a string of foul French expletives, Francis tried to snatch his penis from Alfred. Alfred jerked out of his reach and threw it to Matthew, who caught it, and they began playing Keep-Away. In Arthur's kitchen. With the penis that had been in just about every country in the world… literally.

Arthur wondered if he could commit suicide with his spoon.

"Mattie, catch!"

"Oh, nice job, Al, you threw it in the jam."

"GIVE –"

"I dare you to lick it off!"

" – THAT –"

"Oh, wait, better idea! We should have this thing bronzed!"

" – BACK!"

Francis lunged at Matthew – the current Holder of the Penis – with a fork. Matthew eeped, threw his precious cargo to Alfred, and tore out of the room. Alfred grinned. "Catch me if you can!" he taunted cheerfully.

"_RETURN MY PENIS IMMEDIATELY!_" Francis roared. Though they would never admit it, Arthur and Alfred both cowered slightly in the face of his emasculated fury. He held the fork up as if it were a spear and aimed for Alfred's throat.

Alfred ran for it. He got two steps before he crashed at full tilt into the kitchen table, knocking it over and landing flat on his face.

"Oh, _Allll~fred,_" Francis purred as he approached, a very deadly smile on his lips, "I think it's time to have some fun, _non_?"

Extracting himself from the wreckage, Alfred looked from Francis, to Arthur, back to Francis, to the dick he was still clutching in his hand, and to Arthur again. "If I don't survive this," he said solemnly, "tell Matt I love him."

"What about _me_, you idiot?" Arthur shouted, but he was already gone.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Francis sang, twirling his fork and taking a step forward.

Something under his bare foot went _crunch_. He winced and lifted his leg, only to see the shattered remains of what had been Arthur's favorite teacup.

"Ah," he said intelligently. "_Merde_."

Arthur's eyes widened. His lips wobbled.

Then he leaned down and scooped up his slightly-bent-but-still-useable butter knife.

"_Run_."

Francis dropped the fork and bolted from the house. Arthur chased after him, practically frothing at the mouth, screaming invectives that would have made the Queen blush.

So much for a quiet breakfast.

* * *

…I'm so sorry.


End file.
